Rubato
by Liete
Summary: [Heiderich centric] As far back as he could remember the piano had always been there.


**Rubato**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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As far back as Alfons could remember they had always had a piano. It had initially been purchased simply for show, and it certainly was nice to look at, but owning such a grand item with no music made the piano seem out of place. This was not lost on his older brother and the looming instrument eventually awakened his curiosity.

The 9 year-old Edward Heiderich climbed up onto the piano bench, ignoring protests from Alfons, and wasted no time in pushing up the cover and staring at the keys.

Meanwhile, Alfons shifted uncomfortably and stared nervously at the entryway. "I don't think we're allowed to touch this. You really should get down from there so we can get away before someone catches us," he scolded hesitantly and kept a close watch on the door.

His brother turned to give him a nasty look before defiantly plunking away at random keys. "It's a piano, stupid. You're supposed to play it, otherwise what's the point of it even being here?" He closed the argument by placing a dusty piece of sheet music on the stand.

Alfons sighed and slumped to the floor against the bench. "You can't even read sheet music," he remarked quietly.

A bright grin lit up Edward's face at this easy victory over his younger brother and he played random notes with more fervor.

They had been caught, of course, they always were. This time, however, their father was genuinely intrigued by Edward's interest in the piano and decided that lessons were in order, much to the boy's delight. The piano was tuned and cleaned up, and few days a week an older man would come by to teach Edward how to play the piano. He was a natural at it, and learned quickly. The instructor liked to comment on Edward's hands, that they were the hands of a musician. Long, slender, and dexterous fingers that moved easily through scales.

Alfons ran his hands over the smooth, black wood of the piano and remembered how he had pouted over his own stubby fingers, which of course hadn't mattered. He had always preferred to spend his time looting tools from his father and his father's colleagues and then taking apart his model trains just to see what was inside. He was going to build amazing things, and didn't need something trivial like musician's hands. Instead, he liked to sit in on Edward's practices from time to time, just to watch him play.

He couldn't resist and sat down on the bench, lifting the cover to reveal the worn keys inside. Surely the piano was out of tune by now; it had been years since anyone had played it. Not since his brother had left for London. His eyes drifted to the stand holding the various pages of music his brother had collected and realized what song was on top. It was _that_ song, and he recalled another memory.

Alfons had been bedridden for several days again, after another terrible coughing fit sent his father into a scare. The doctor came by with more bad news, as usual, and he had been exiled to his room. Several days after that, he lay staring at the ceiling when a foreign sound reached his ears. His brother was playing a beautiful and sad song. Alfons climbed out of bed and made his way to the source of that music. He found Edward alone as he played. The boy watched in fascination at the look of calm concentration on his brother's face as his hands moved deftly over the keys. He thought that Edward must have been in his own world, one where only he and that piano existed.

As Edward finished the song, he noticed Alfons standing in the doorway, still in awe. "Hey, shouldn't you be in bed?"

Alfons ignored this question and gaped at his brother. "When did you learn that song?"

"Oh that? Just a couple days ago. It's one of Chopin's works. Ah…but I guess you wouldn't know who he is, would you…" Edward scratched his head sheepishly and slid off the bench. "It's a nice song, eh? The title means 'sadness.' I really like to play this one."

It was true that he had seen his brother play on many occasions, but nothing like what he had just witnessed. "It was amazing," he breathed.

His brother blushed and scratched at his head again. "All right, all right. _You_ need to get back to bed or _I'll_ be the one who will get punished," Edward huffed and proceeded to push Alfons back the way he came.

"You'll play it again for me, won't you?" He had never wanted to hear a song again so badly before.

Edward grinned. "You got it."

He had left for London shortly after, for more "exposure" to the real world (though Alfons had faintly wondered if it was because of him that Edward had been sent away), so that chance to hear that song again hadn't come. Years rolled by, though Edward always promised that he'd be back to play for him again.

Alfons pressed a few keys and was surprised to find the notes still at their correct pitches. He hesitated for a moment, but decided that he would play himself, even with his stubby fingers. He didn't need the sheet music, he couldn't read it anyway, because the song had never left his memory.

He closed his eyes and played. He ceased to be aware of anything but himself and the music he played. Notes and chords he had never learned, crescendo, ritardando, words whose meanings he did not know, he played them all. He was standing in the doorway watching his brother play once more.

He was swept out of that place by the final chord, it sounded off. Movement caught his attention and he found his father standing in the doorway with a pained expression. He clutched a letter in his hand.

"Alfons…" he began, but he didn't have to say anything more. Alfons already knew.

Alfons swallowed, but offered his father a weak smile. "It really is going to be a lot quieter around here from now on."

The man came to squeeze his son's shoulder, but didn't say anything.

Alfons gathered up the sheet music and regarded the piano one last time. He played a few notes and almost laughed. The piano was out of tune.


End file.
